


High Lady, Queen, Spy

by aneverfixedmark



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Multi, acomaf, post acomaf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7155572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aneverfixedmark/pseuds/aneverfixedmark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feyre has been in the Spring Court for nearly two months - Hybern's soliders are pouring in every day and every day she must fight to keep her secret. The High Lady of the Night Court, Queen of Night Triumphant, is a spy. Uncovering secrets, playing the game, dismantling their armies from within... Every wretched day brings her one day closer to reuniting with her mate - but when? And will they be able to circumvent the war to come?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Uncovering Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> I just... can't wait until next May for Feyre to punch Tamlin in the face so here it goes

Feyre

  
I sat by the window of my painting room, brush in hand, unleashing color upon the canvas in front of me. Bright, pastel colors coating the the fabric of the canvas, shapes of the flora and fauna I could see outside the window emerging from the strokes. But the strokes I made were angry, furious, and ugly. It was what I saw when I looked out that damned window, whenever I walked outside, whenever I looked into those green eyes of the High Lord downstairs.

  
There was a knock on the door that startled me enough that a yellow splotch appeared in the patch of blue hyacinths. I slumped and glared at the canvas in front of me. With a huff I turned to the door. “Come in,”  
It was Lucien. His metal eye gleamed in the light streaming from the windows. He wasn’t outright glaring, but since my return to the Spring Court every look he gave me was coated in an accusatory tenor. He knew. And he knew that I knew he knew. Not that he would ever say a word about it to Tamlin. Not if he wanted to see Elain again.

  
“Meeting downstairs in five minutes. Bron and Hart are back from the Night Court and Ianthe has news from Hybern.”

  
He shut the door before I could thank him for telling me.

  
I pushed back from my stool and straightened. I let out a deep breath, calming my emotions and bristling rage that emerged whenever Ianthe’s name was mentioned.

  
In the study Tamlin sat behind the large oak desk, famed by a stain glass window. His fingers were steepled, his elbows resting comfortably on the desk. Bron and Hart stood before the desk, slightly to one side as if to make room. Lucien was sprawled in an armchair looking pained to be there. When I walked in Tamlin’s eyes narrowed on my paint covered hands, then spun to glare at Lucien. “I thought I told you not to disturb her if she was busy,” he snapped.

  
I took up my usual spot to Tamlin’s right, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I wanted to be here,” I said simply.

  
He was tense for another moment, and then his rage subsided. He relaxed into my touch, and put his hand over mine. I sucked on my teeth.

  
To his credit, Tamlin had been trying to change his behavior since my return to the Spring Court. A small number of guards shadowed me about the grounds. I was permitted to go for rides through the territory (with Lucien and three other sentries at my back). I was allowed to visit the village, though they still would not accept my help.

  
Permitted. Allowed. The words burned inside my gut. Little did they know that these small allowances were just enough for me to collect information outside of Tamlin’s direct communications. In these small meetings in the study I heard what was officially being shared between Tamlin and the King of Hybern. Out there, I could see for myself how many soldiers were pouring in from that monstrous rock, how well supplied they were, could listen to conversations about their plans to break the wall… and report every damn word of it back to Rhys.  
The double doors across the room opened and in strutted Ianthe and her four guard escort. Fire roiled in my belly and all I could see was The King of Hybern as he ordered his men to shove my sisters heads below boiling water — Elain’s sobs, Nesta’s accusing finger… I repressed a snarl. As if she’d heard it rumbling in my throat, Ianthe met my eyes.

  
I remembered the day of my return.

  
Tamlin has brought me carefully inside the house, arms around me, Lucien’s metal eye whirring, his tension palpable. Tamlin had just brought me into the antechamber of the house, looking me over once again, tilting my chin to the side to view my neck, brush my hair back… It was an extreme effort not to slap him. Or burn his hand clean off his wrist. It was then that Ianthe had glided into the room, the perfect picture of grace and poise — until three sets of eyes flashed to her. She stopped where she stood, and every muscle of her body froze.  
Tamlin had a hand wrapped around her throat in a half a second, and was roaring at her in a way that shook the whole house. Lucien kept a hand wrapped around my arm, as if I needed help to stand.

  
_“WHAT DID YOU DO?”_ Tamlin demanded, pressing the priestess to the wall. If it had been me, she wouldn’t have made it to the wall. Her head would have rolled the moment she walked in. I hissed.

  
She had choked and gaped and struggled, her hands grasping at the one around her neck. Tamlin hadn’t loosened his grip as he threatened a slow, painful death the next time she thought to conspire with the King of Hybern, to meddle with my family without a word to him. To _him_.

  
“You will apologize to Feyre,” he snarled. “You will beg her forgiveness. The _only_ reason your life is not forfeit this very second is…” he’d tensed in that moment, something passing over his features I knew was bothering him, “Is that the King trusts you. You will continue your correspondence with him — under my watch. You will be guarded day and night. You will be given two meals a day. You will not prance around the house as if you are the Lady of this Court. Every word you write will be read. Failure to behave will result in a swift death. Is that clear?”

  
Ianthe had nodded once quickly, eyes wide and brimming with tears. When Tamlin released her, she had fallen to her knees, gasping for air. When she had retrieved her breath, her words were not to beg forgiveness but…  
“I’m pregnant,”

  
And that was how I had learned Calanmai had already come to pass, and that without my presence, Tamlin had been forced to choose another female. That female had been Ianthe. I very much doubted she had been surprised. She had likely been vying for it from the second I left with Mor. And was likely relishing in the fact that she had been able to become pregnant at all. The heir of a High Lord, nestled happily in her womb.  
Luckily, I hadn’t had to fake my shock and disgust.

  
Simply being in the room, looking at her face, Tamlin rushing to my side to wrap his arms around me, so far from Rhys and my family… I vomited.

  
Being pregnant with Tamlin’s heir didn’t lessen her punishment — only granted her more meals and more comfort. She was still watched, still Tamlin’s prisoner, or so he said.

  
As for me, it had granted me a grace period. I hadn’t had to fake my disgust at the idea of sharing his bed. No, I could be the wounded girlfriend, fiance, wife-to-be, who’s male had knocked up some other female. Not to mention, the female that brought about the destruction of my family.

  
The vomiting and nightmares that had so plagued me before Mor’s rescue became my number one asset; the more I was sick, the more I “woke” screaming in the night, the more space to recover I was given. Tamlin’s method of recovery, at least, had not changed. Only after a month did he beg to share my bed — not to fuck, but to share warmth. I had decided that was doable. If it would keep him from seeking other comforts, or at least delay.

  
I wondered how long it would last.

  
“I have news from the King,” Ianthe said, holding up a letter in her hand. Bron promptly plucked it from her hand and gave it to Tamlin, who’s hand was outstretched and waiting.

  
“Later,” Tamlin growled, his eyes lingering on her mid section. She wasn’t showing yet… it had been little more than two months. I stared pointedly past her. “First… Bron. what news from the Night Court?”  
Bron stepped closer, as if up to a podium. He cleared his throat.

  
“That attack failed. We attempted entry from their western border, from Hybern as you directed. We winnowed to Hybern’s waiting ships and meant continue onward, but they were prepared. The Cauldron knows how they knew exactly when and where we would be — but a legion of Illyrians appeared, led by The Morrigan…”

  
A twinge of pride nestled in my heart. But, there was something not quite right…

  
“The western border?” I queried as innocently as I could. “Why there? The Court of Nightmares is nearer to the east — that much we know for sure.”

  
Bron wrung his hands once. “We weren’t directed to attack the Court of Nightmares, my Lady,” he said. “We were attempting an attack on Velaris.”

  
I froze.

  
My heart stopped. Then started. Then stopped again. It was pounding in my chest before I knew it. I checked myself before I looked to Tamlin. “Why there?” I asked, making myself sound simply curious.

  
He didn’t look up at me. “It’s their least well-guarded port. And we need a foothold. What were the casualties?” he asked of Bron.

  
Bron’s face was a mask of stone. “There are thirty-two of our men left, High Lord.”

  
Tamlin didn’t move. “I thought I said to send a hundred.” His voice was like ice.

  
“We did, my Lord.”

  
Tamlin was quiet for a moment. “One legion of Illyrians is… how many?”

  
“Twenty-five,” Lucien answered.

  
“Twenty-five Illyrians and The Morrigan were able to slaughter seventy of our best fighters?” Tamlin growled. I nearly had to slap myself from grinning from ear to ear. That was my Mor. Those were my Illyrians. Still… with Mor leading the Illyrians, it meant Cassian was still unfit for duty. I had known as much but… it must have killed him to stay behind.

  
Or maybe not. I’d heard that Nesta was entertaining him plenty. Though I wasn’t sure bickering and fighting would help him heal any faster.

  
“Next time, you take a small group. Fifteen at most. You winnow to the Day Court and walk from there. I’ll arrange it with their High Lord. I want stealth to be a priority. You walk in from their southern border, camping and resting. I’ll join you myself for the siege.”

  
That would be my first message to Rhys.

  
Tamlin turned to Ianthe. “It had better be good news.”

  
She smiled sweetly, and it made me want to claw her eyes out. Well, more than usual, anyway.

  
“The King of Hybern is sending three additional troops to our southern lands, about a day’s walk from the wall. They will need provisions. He is also sending a legion here, to the manor, to aid in the attacks on the Night Court since they have thus far been… unsuccessful.”

  
Tamlin snarled, but Ianthe continued.

  
“And Jurian will be leading the southern troops. He wants to be point when they destroy the wall.”

  
Thank the Mother Lucien had come to me. This was more information than I’d had in a month — since Bron had left for his attempt to siege Velaris. Excitement for information warred with my instinct to roar at this room full of filth for trying to destroy a city so pure, so good… a city that was mine.

  
“I… I think I need to lie down…” I murmured. “If that’s all…” I looked from Tamlin to Lucien to Bron and Hart — skipping Ianthe — and back to Tamlin.

  
“Only…” he began, and I widened my eyes, prompting. “Tarquin has agreed to join us.” I gulped. “His reply to my request arrived this morning. He and the High Lords of Autumn and Winter will arrive here in two days.”  
I nodded once, and looked around. Best to examine that piece of information in private.

  
None of them seemed to have anything more to share. Tamlin rubbed my arm gently once before kissing my hand. I smiled at him before I swiftly left the room.

  
I tried to walk at a normal pace back to my painting studio. I had paper in there. And this was a lot of information. Three more troops on the southern side of the Spring Court led by Jurian — that made seven total. There were two to the west and six to the east… the northern border only had one, so far as I knew. But one more was coming here, not to mention three High Lords, including Tarquin…

  
I wasn’t sure what to do about that. Perhaps seeing me returned to Tamlin with the ruse of having been manipulated by Rhys would be enough to remove the price on my head. I didn’t think so. Tarquin was smarter than that. He’d seen me, seen us together. But if I could get the chance to speak to him alone… not likely with those three shadows following me, even now. I would need to plan for that.

  
Quickly, I jotted out the information on a scrap of paper with a spare pen, placed it in front of me in the corner of my studio, and waited.

  
It vanished within seconds.

  
I looked over my shoulder, just in case one of my shadows had decided to enter the studio. They never did, but being a spy made me jumpy.

  
A response came a few minutes later.

  
_Thank you — we’ll be ready._

  
I quickly incinerated it, just as a second note appeared.

  
_I miss you._

  
A lump formed in my throat. I clung to the note a second longer than I should have before burning it. I ripped off another scrap of paper from a pile lying on the floor and jotted down my reply.

  
_I’ll be home and you’ll be sick of me before you know it. I’ll ruin every surface with my painting._

  
The note disappeared and I could almost hear a chuckle through our bond. The next appeared in my hand.  
_And then we’ll do some more ruining together, right?_

  
I wrote, _Absolutely._

Any communication with Rhys usually put me in a good mood, so I picked up a canvas and some paints and sat in the middle of the room. I wasn’t painting anything in particular — just swirls and whorls as I thought of the information I’d gathered today.

  
An attack on Velaris. And they hadn’t told me. Why would they tell me? They never told me anything unless I was in the room, demanding to be told. And Tamlin. Using the King of Hybern’s ships to advance his attack. If he had been there, I’m not sure Mor wouldn’t have incinerated him. If Amren had been there, he wouldn’t be here now. Attacking innocent people. As if he hadn’t done enough of that already. I thought of Nesta and Elain. That traitorous, murdering, absolute _pig._

  
I looked down.

  
Well, that was one way to express my feelings.

  
I’d painted Tamlin — glorious and self indulgent and with a pig’s nose.

  
I grinned, and scribbled something on the corner. Within a moment, the painting had vanished.

Rhys

  
It took a quarter of a second for my drink to spew out my mouth and nose.

  
Hearing my roar of laughter and low cackles, Mor drifted into the room from wherever she’d been lounging — behind her Nesta and Elain peered curiously into the dining room of the house in Velaris.

  
“What’s this?” Mor tittered. I gestured to the painting in front of me. She plucked it up and viewed it at arm’s length. “‘To the most handsome and clever High Lord’ —“ she read the inscription on the canvas. “That’s sarcasm right there, Rhys, I hate to tell you — hmm,” she looked at the painting and her mouth twitched into a grin. “It’s quite the likeness,” she said. She looked over her shoulder to Feyre’s sisters, waving them over. “Come see,”

  
The two sisters came into the room, Nesta striding purposefully, Elain tiptoeing quietly. As they looked at the painting Mor pulled a glass of wine from the air, raising it in the air. “To the most dignified and articulate High Lady,” she sipped.

  
“She’s quite good, isn’t she?” Elain murmured, smiling just a little at the pig-faced Tamlin.

  
“Mm,” was Nesta’s response.

  
“What are you doing?” Mor demanded, looking over my shoulder at the paper I had pulled out, about to write a response to my mate.

  
“Writing a note to Feyre,”

  
“Ohh!” Elain swept over the table, hands clutched together. “Can you include a message from us?”

  
I shrugged and nodded. I held the pen out to her. Nesta followed her. I watched them both write on the small paper in their own elegant writing.

  
_We miss you! - Elain  
Elain misses you. - Nesta_

  
“My turn,” Mor said, snatching the pen before I could take it. I grumbled and she batted at my head.

  
_Your artistic skills are impressive — such wonderful representation of the state which manifests within a subject, perhaps not physically but in every sense of their being. Never has a painting more represented the essence of the subject. - Mor_

  
“Okay, now if you please,” I took the pen from Mor and wrote out my own response on the remaining bit of paper.

  
_I love you — Rhys_

  
Mor made a gagging sound as she read my response. I growled at her, even as Elain cooed sweetly. Nesta simply rolled her eyes and left the room. The contrast between Feyre and her sisters was astounding. How was it that three such women lived in one cottage for nineteen years without tearing each other to shreds? If they didn’t look so alike you’d never guess they were related. The one similarity I could find between Feyre and Nesta was their fierce obligation to the ones they cared for. Nesta’s care for Elain was a mirror of the way Feyre had defended the Rainbow that day Hybern attacked. Ferocious, unrelenting, a natural disaster in their own right.  
And though Nesta was clearly annoyed and unamused by Cassian… she had spent a significant amount of time barking orders at him while he worked his way through physical therapy. And before that she had snuck once or twice into his sick room and forced him to swallow his healing tonic — had once snarled at him to stay still and quit being pathetic as the healer worked on his wings. With Nesta, I was beginning to realize, the more thorny her outside, the more she cared.

  
_I love you too. I’ll be home soon._

  
I read the note once and pushed away from the table. I needed to speak with Cassian and Azriel about the information she had relayed. And later… I would return to the Illyrian camps and continue training the warriors. The group of females I had been working with were clearly showing progress. Mor had been beaming with pride when they’d returned from the Hybern ships. None of the generals in the camps had been able to argue that their skills were beyond what they had imagined them capable of. One in particular… Leida. They’d had to fit her with syphons their first week of training.

  
With this in mind, I left for the House of Wind.


	2. Faking It Is Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Nessian, a lot of Feyre dealing with some bullshit

Nesta walked up the staircase and down the hall of the manor house in Velaris. She liked it better here than that ridiculous, paint-covered cabin Rhysand had insisted on keeping her and Elain in within the first week after their return from Hybern. It was the safest place, he said. Safer than Velaris - which their enemies now knew existed thanks to those spineless queens. Once, he'd had Mor take them to the Night Court. Nesta had screeched until Mor took them away. She had never seen Elain so shaken, not even when she'd... _changed_.  

The change had been excruciating. That's what it was to be remade. Bones rebuilt, skin resown, nerves and tendons regrown to feel more, do more. 

Elain had acquired some supernatural power. With her kind, gentle, encouraging nature, of course she had a healing power. A restorative one. Not that she knew how to use it. Rhysand had invited healers and tutors in the past weeks to lend a hand in her instruction, since Elain had insisted on learning to use her power. Nesta had snarled at them, but tolerated their presence. It was what Elain wanted. 

Nesta, on the other hand... she had refused to emerge from that Cauldron until every ounce of spare power was hers. She had stayed within its boiling depths until the last possible second, sucking the marrow from its source. She wasn't quite sure what the limits or extents to her power were. All she knew was that she could cause _pain_. Terrible, crushing, agonizing pain. That was the gift she had stolen from the Cauldron. Just a look from her could cast Rhysand to his knees. It had - when they had returned to Velaris and he had tried to calm her and Elain down. 

She didn't regret defending Elain in the best way she could - but she didn't want to hurt the High Lord again. He wasn't the one who had done this to them. True, he and Feyre had dragged them into this mess, this cauldron-damned mess, but the wretched King would have found them without Rhysand's help. Nesta had been a seething ball of fury for days, realizing it had been Feyre's carelessness, her stupid, running mouth, that had led to _this_. This ridiculous body, this strength and speed and senses... 

Feyre had been right about one thing. The food did taste better here. 

Feyre. Her stupid little sister. 

Feyre. The one who had kept them alive for all those years.

Feyre. The haggard huntress who had abandoned them for some pretty High Lord.

Feyre. The heartbroken human girl who had run off to save her true love.

Feyre. The Fae. The High Lady. 

Nesta didn't know what to thing of her little sister now. Not after everything. Somewhere inside herself, she found a grudging respect for the woman who hid like a cuckoo in the nest of its prey. Who, despite everything, was painting pig noses on the likenesses of her enemies. 

She thought of that ridiculous painting as she opened Cassian's door, forgoing the knock. The smirk falls from her face the moment she sees him, laying on his stomach on that over-large bed, arms folded under his chin. Indigo colored blankets were pulled up to the small of his back (thankfully, seeing as last week she had walked in to see his bare ass monopolizing the room) where his wings stretched limply out to either side. 

"Were you just smiling?" Cassian asked, jaw practically falling off the side of his bed. 

Nesta sneered, taking up the tin of salve from the basket of medicinal herbs and lotions she had set on a stool to the side of the fireplace. "No. Mind your own business," she said as she strode over to the male, examining his wings. 

"Why were you smiling?" he asked. Nesta shot him a look. His dark eyes were bored, but curious. She would be bored too, if she had been stuck in this room for weeks. But Rhysand's healers had been adamant. If Cassian ever wanted use of his wings again, he was to stay on strict bed-rest. 

Nesta decided it did no harm to tell him. "Feyre sent a painting to Rhysand," she told him. 

"Of what?" 

"Of Tamlin."

Cassian cocked a brow. 

"Of Tamlin with a pig's nose." 

Cassian blinked, obviously not expecting that, and chuckled. "That sounds like her." he said, a smile at the corner of his lips.

Nesta set the basket of herbs aside and pulled the stool to the edge of the bed. She unscrewed the lid to the tin of salve, and coated her fingers generously. Examining his wings, Nesta decided they had improved fractionally since last night. Heightened sense of sight could pull out the detail of thousands of tiny membranes restitching the material back together. Maybe an eighth of an inch since she last saw him.

Cassian watched her intently, grimacing as she coated the more volatile spots with the cool salve. His gaze became scrutinizing and it wasn't long before Nesta bit out, "What?" 

He shrugged. "I guess its just strange to see you give a damn about her or what she does." 

She knew he meant Feyre.

"She's my sister."

"As if that mattered when you let her keep you all alive on her own for eight years. Or when she became Fae." He rested his cheek on his folded hands.

"I laughed at her stupid painting, that's it. And it's not as if I'm not allowed to give a damn, is it?" 

Cassian fell silent. Nesta was secretly pleased to have shut him up. She continued coating the red and raw edges of his wings. When she was done, she wiped her fingers on the apron around her waist and moved to put the tin away. She straightened up the basket, replaced the stool, and was about to turn from the room when he spoke again.

"Even if you don't give a damn about her, even if you'll only ever have enough room in your heart for Elain, you should know how much she cares about you." Nesta bristled and opened her mouth to snarl at him but he pressed on. "And that even if she means nothing to you, there are a good many people in this city to whom she means the world." 

Nesta looked at him, the Illyrian Fae male, marred, bedridden, and chastising her. 

"Shut your mouth and go to sleep." she said.

Cassian smirked. "You only tell me to shut my mouth when you know I'm right." 

Nesta made an obscene gesture over her shoulder as she left the room and slammed the door. 

 

**Feyre POV**

I sat in my bed, reading. It was a silly book about a silly girl who lets a man lock her in a tower guarded by a monstrous dragon. _If she were smart, she would befriend the dragon and fly far away from that place_ , I thought. 

Alis had come and gone, having braided my hair back from my face and helped me into my nightgown. I could have done it myself, but I found that Alis was my only friend in this place. It was her, after all, who had begged Mor to save me from this place. 

I had a feeling she knew why I was here. She never said a word, but her gentle touch, her lingering looks, her true and yet fragile smiles all seemed to be saying  _I'm with you_. I couldn't be sure. She very well could just be going about things the way she usually did, and I was just desperate for a friend. At the notion, I sent as much feeling as I could through the bond - the longing and wishing and hoping that I felt.

I couldn't write to Rhys now. Tamlin was coming back to the manor soon, what with the High Lords arriving tomorrow. A good night's rest, he said. That's what this meeting called for.

More like a shovel and several six foot deep holes. 

Outside the room, I heard the scrape of claws on marble that sounded Tamlin's return. I could hear fur shifting, weight pressing into the floor as it approached the door to my room. But it was just the fae male who entered my room, discarding fighting armor - a satchel, a handful of knives. I noticed the blood on his neck and chin. Tamlin, noticing my gaze, huffed into the bathroom to wash up. When he returned he wore only loose pants, hung lightly around his waist.

Without hesitating, Tamlin crawled onto the bed and kissed my temple before falling into the pillows face first.

"How was your day?" I asked, annoyed that he'd likely leave drool on my pillow.

He groaned into the pillow, confirming my theory. He turned to look at me with weary eyes. 

"That bad?" I try to sound sympathetic.

Suddenly, he sits upright, swiftly so that he kneels before me. His shadow casts over me, obscuring the light from the chandelier above the bed and darkening the pages of my book. I want to roll my eyes. I just set the book aside. 

He takes my hand. I wish I could just read. He leans in to kiss me. I feign a smile. His lips touch mine. I wish for Rhys. 

Just a kiss, I tell myself. Even if "just a kiss" feels like a lifetime of betrayal. I can never fathom how Rhys endured forty nine years as Amarantha's whore.

I can, though. I think of Velaris. I think of Mor and Amren and Cassian and Azriel. I think of my sisters. I think of my mate and I know how Rhys endured it. There are things in this world worth suffering for. 

Tamlin opens my mouth with his and I feel his hand graze my abdomen, gently over the fabric, moving up and up and up...

I push him away. His green eyes are hurt, concerned. I don't care. Not when his hands on me make me want to puke. If I didn't have such excellent control over my gag reflex, Tamlin would be covered in regurgitated dinner right now. Rhys did what he had to all those years - I'm not quite at that point. I can get away with this, so I will drag it out as long as necessary. And really, I have a wonderful excuse. 

I willed confusion and sadness into my eyes. "Tam... I - I can't." I stutter out like some doe-eyed moron. "Not with  _her_ downstairs. Not with the reminder of what - "

"Of what I had to do when you were gone," his eyes flash with anger and I steel myself. He breathes and is calmer when he speaks again. "You know I had to," he says gruffly. "That I didn't have a choice."

I look at my hands, at the glamor that covers the tattoo that marks me High Lady of the Night Court. "I know. And maybe that makes me petty or a bitch but - " he puts his mouth on mine to stop me. Self loathing usually works to win him over. He pulls back, eyes pleading. I shake my head. "I can't. Not when the woman you brought to our bed - or your bed, which I've never even seen, or it could have been that cave or it could have been a tree - and she's downstairs sleeping comfortably carrying _your child_ \- "

"It's a boy." Tamlin says. 

I look at him. He doesn't meet my eyes. His face is blank.

A boy. An heir. A son.

"A boy?" I echo. 

He nods. 

I straighten. "You weren't going to tell me?"

"I just did, didn't I?" he looks up, as if he's challenging me.

"After you tried to sleep with me."

He pulls back and looks at my face. "And that's shocking to you? That I would want to share your bed again? Really share it? I love you, Feyre, of course I want to go back to the way we were!" 

I tried - Mother, I _tried_ \- not to growl at him. I think it sounded like I was choking, at best. I cast my gaze downward and folded my shoulders in on myself. I let out a long breath. "No... you're right. I just - the news took me by surprise." I bat my lashes as I looked up at him.

Prick. Bastard. Ass. He kept it from me because he knew it would spoil his chances of getting laid. Pig.

He sighed, shoulders loosening as he ran a hand through his blond hair. "I know," he said. 

And just like that, he was in the palm of my hand. Sometimes, I thought it had to be too easy. This is too easy, manipulating him. But no. He truly believed I still loved him. That I couldn't possibly have stopped loving him even after what he did. Couldn't believe I could truly and freely love someone like Rhysand.

"It surprised me, too," he went on, ignorant to the seething rage and disgust within me. "A son..." he looked at his hands, then back up at me. "I just wish it was yours." 

I hoped he took the angry heat in my cheeks as longing emotion. I knew he would.

"Me too," I whispered. And then I said something I knew would keep him satisfied for at least a week, even if it made my skin crawl. I pushed him back against the headboard on his side, and flipped my leg over to straddle him. His eyes were hopeful as I leaned down and whispered in his ear - pretending it was Rhys I was touching, Rhys listening to my words. "When this is over, when this war is won and peace has been restored, you will have me every night. Every night and everywhere and you will put a High Lord into my belly. One of our own. I know you will. The odds have been stacked against us before, yet look at where we are."

Tamlin smiled, eyes full of love I'd grown to detest, and wrapped his arms around me. I let him hold me in his arms until he fell asleep. In the light of the moon, I rolled over, and wished for home. 

 


	3. No Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre and Lucien level the playing field

Feyre POV

 

The next morning I crawled out of bed and crept into the bathing room - desperate to get Tamlin’s scent off of me. I filled the tub and heated the water myself to speed the process along, longing to immerse myself in its soapy depths and rid myself of the nauseating smell. 

The High Lords were arriving today. Tarquin, Lucien’s father, and the High Lord of the Winter Court. Elias, I had been told his name was. I couldn’t remember him from Under the Mountain. I wondered what he would be like - if he would feel that strange connection between us that existed in the powers he had gifted to me. 

I would have to keep my temper on a tight leash over the next week. No burning hand-prints into the tables, no frosted finger-tips to chill my water… 

And there was Tarquin. He had written to Tamlin that he would not seek retribution for any acts committed against the Summer Court while I had been enthralled by Rhysand. I doubted it was because he thought I wasn’t guilty - more like he didn’t want to get into it with Tamlin without knowing all the facts. I didn’t blame him. I’d simply have to find a way to tell him what - why. And if he never forgave me, I could accept it. That was the cost. One Rhys had paid again and again. 

When I emerged from the bath, Tamlin was gone. Likely readying in his own room. Alis had replaced him and was standing ready for me with a gown draped over her arms, ready to dress me. It was a soft pink, the color of the roses in the garden. Floral lace decorated the bodice and sleeves - except for the tufts of chiffon that padded my shoulders - and rand down my hips, dissipating into flowing skirts. Lovely, but… weak. It made me look like a girl. Not the woman, the queen, the High Lady that I was. 

That was the intended outcome, of course. Make everyone forget, or somehow not realize, the power that I wielded. 

Alis weaved baby’s breath into my hair, braiding the sides and joining them at the back, leaving most of it hanging around my neck, curled to perfection. She applied shimmery pink to my eyelids and used blush to brighten my cheeks - even a shiny pink gloss to coat my lips. Pink, pink, pink. I wanted to say that pink wasn’t the only feminine color that existed, but kept my thoughts to myself. 

“Thank you,” I told her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. 

She smiled at me, though it didn’t touch her eyes. She patted my shoulder twice, her hand lingering just a moment, before she turned the left the room. 

She had to know. She was smart. Not that we could ever speak about it. Not here, in this house. Not where every single move was watched. Every whisper could be heard. 

Which brought me back to the issue of Tarquin. If my plan worked… 

“Feyre,” Lucien’s voice came from the doorway. 

I looked at him. He was dressed in his best finery - and he had so many jewels on his belt and on the strap across his chest that he sparkled in the morning light filtering through the window. It was all extra weight that would slow him down in a battle. Nothing at all like the lethal simplicity of the Illyrian blades I had become so used to.

“It’s time,” he said, jerking his head.

I stood from my chair at the vanity and strode to meet him. He held out his arm to me, and I took it. “Are you ready to meet the High Lords?” he asked me as we walked down the hall. 

“No,” I said baldly. “I don’t know what to say to Tarquin,” I admitted. 

Lucien cast me a sideways glance. “So you remember that part of your adventure, do you?” he drawled icily. 

I pulled him to a stop in front of a great tapestry of the forrest beyond the hills and yanked my arm from his. “Alright,” I hissed. “Not here -“ 

“There’s no one here,” he shot back, keeping his voice at a whisper. “Everyone is out of the house guarding the grounds for the High Lords arrival. So tell me, _Feyre darling_ , exactly what’s going on, because I’m sick of being in the dark.” 

He meant it as a jab, but it just made me miss my mate. I sneered at him. “If you were smart you would keep your big mouth shut.” 

“Let’s say for the argument’s sake that I’m not smart. What exactly are you doing here, Feyre? I know you - I know it wasn’t all something Rhysand cooked up. He’s smart, he’s powerful, but I’ve seen what you can do, too.” He glanced at my hands, and I fought the urge to hide them behind my back like a naughty child. 

I sighed, my fists clenched. Very well. 

“You know I faked being under Rhys’ control.” I said.

He snorted. “I can’t believe Tamlin fell for that. I -“ 

I interrupted. “Rhys was never controlling me. He taught me to use my power. He helped me get better. They… they all did,” I said, wishing I could keep the longing out of my voice. The longing I felt for my court, my friends.

“And the King never broke the bond?”

I shook my head. “He broke the deal Rhys and I made Under the Mountain, but he couldn’t break the bond if he tried.” 

Lucien managed to suppress his growl. “And… you… love him?” 

I met his stare dead on. “Yes.”

“Even after everything he’s done?” he challenged.

I controlled my breathing, keeping my voice low. “Everything Rhys has done has been to protect his court and his people.”

“What about Under the Mountain?” Lucien went on. “What about your wedding? What about what he did to Tamlin’s family? What about - “

I snarled and Lucien fell back a step. “You don’t know half of what Rhysand has sacrificed - what he did for me and everyone else Under that damned Mountain.” I made my voice low and deadly then, “And don’t tell me you never knew that Tamlin and his father and brothers murdered the High Lord of the Night Court’s wife and daughter in cold blood before Rhys ever laid a hand on the Spring Court or its denizens.” 

Lucien blinked. His breathing was still heavy, like every instinct was telling him to roar and rage and shake sense into me… but he didn’t. He just glared. And shuddered. We stood there, a battle of wills, for I don’t know how long. Finally, he looked away.

“He told you about that, then?” 

“He told me everything.”

“Fine,” Lucien snapped. “What now, then? You’re here. To what end? Are you going to kill Tamlin? Because if you try - “

“If I wanted him dead you wouldn’t be able to stop me,” I whispered. “But no, Lucien. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Why are you here, Feyre?”

“You saw what happened in Hybern,” I said, holding out my hands, placating. “The King, those wretched Queens, they don’t care about human life. They’ll tear down that wall and slaughter and enslave and destroy until there’s nothing left of what we’ve managed to build in the past five hundred years. They took my sisters from their beds and shoved their heads under the water in that cauldron and forced them to become something neither of them wanted. They took away their freedom, their choice - their _lives_. I won’t let that happen to anyone else.”

Lucien didn’t move, save for the bob of his throat at the mention of my sisters. His mate. 

“So you’re a spy?” 

“Yes.”

“For the Night Court?” 

“Yes.”

He swore. 

He spun on his heel and paced the width of the hallway and back. He strode up to me with his fists clenched. 

“And what am I supposed to do? My mate is with the Night Court but my loyalty is to Tamlin - “

“If you have to ask that question, you don’t deserve Elain.” I bit out. 

He stopped cold, russet eye narrowing. 

“I mean it,” I said. “Elain is good and kind and she should never have been brought into this. But she was - because of this rutting court. And if you can still swear your fealty to a High Lord who would trap a female like some kind of animal and keep her caged like a prize, a High Lord who would sell out his people and every person alive just to keep that prize… you don’t deserve my sister.” 

Hurt flickered in Lucien’s eye. I didn’t care. He had to know this now. Had to promise to be everything that Elain deserved and more - or I’d never let him near Elain again. 

“You know where she is?” He asked quietly. 

I nodded. 

Lucien sighed, closing his eyes. He folded his arms across his chest and moved to lean against the wall beside me. He looked at the ceiling. “You don’t leave me much of a choice,” he said. 

I tensed, but he turned his head to look at me. “You know I’ll keep your secret. And I’ll help you. For Elain.” 

“Do it for yourself, Lucien.” I said. “You deserve better, too.” And with that, I started off down the hall. “Come on,” I called over my shoulder. “We’ll be late.” 


End file.
